Falling Short
by Kaguya 2.0
Summary: Blues spends his early life knowing nothing about the world or why he is here. But in time, he begins to realize his creators are keeping secrets from him... and that he doesn t know who he can trust. Buckle up, it s going to be a wild ride. Set in a realistic near-future Japan, 13 years before "Hiding."
1. Birthday Suit

His earliest memories were nothing more than abstractions: shapes without form, movements without direction, black colors. Later there were sensations, pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral, all independent of happiness or fear. Then there were the blurred outlines of human faces, without significance or context. Then voices speaking in muffled, unintelligible tones.

Then, there was the moment when something was born into his world. It was as if he'd split into two, except that he had no knowledge of the other part. His first act of will was a desire to understand it, and his first emotion was disappointment that he couldn't.

In retrospect, he was now able to put some of the features of those memories to words, and so he relived them more vividly than he'd lived them, just as a human dreamer attaches meaning and color to his dream only after he's awake.

Slowly, the world took shape. Many of the steps toward his current self defied explanation. He didn't understand them, though he now knew what their results were. He had no control over the process, but he wasn't afraid.

Colors appeared: brown, sky blue, green, dazzling yellow; then, much later, they collected themselves into shapes. Sounds grew clearer and came at him from different directions.

He found himself in a forest. Of course, he didn't know then that it was called a "forest," or that such a place was known for being beautiful. He had no idea how long he'd been there, but he couldn't imagine a time before it. Why, then, did everything appear so new and strange?

Above him was a canopy of trees, through which he saw shards of light. In front of him, an expanse of green and brown stretched into the distance. The leaves undulated in constant rhythms as though they had a mind of their own. He heard the sound of the wind, powerful and sweeping, which at the same time comforted and unsettled him.

He trudged across the soft damp earth toward an opening in the trees. Tree—how did he know such a thing had a name like that? He couldn't remember learning the word. He turned around, looked once more behind him, and the word "forest" came to mind. "Sun," "sky," and "grass" followed. And as these thoughts flitted through him, he realized that this was the first time he'd been aware of his own thinking.

He stopped just before he reached the clearing. What was happening to him? His world hadn't always been like this. He'd been here before, but until now he'd had no comprehension of what was around him. He'd watched the leaves and listened to the wind, but he hadn't actually seen or heard anything. He knew there had been a time when nothing was separate from him, and the world and himself were a bright indistinguishable blur. Now, everything had a name and its own proper place. The more names he realized he knew, the more bewildered he was by the widening separation of himself from everything around him.

With the awareness of that separation came his first experience of fear.

The span of time from the beginning of his first conscious sensation to now seemed like minutes. Actually, he later learned, it was decades.

He heard music. It was the beginning of Brahms's 4th symphony, though he didn't yet know its name, or that Dr. Wily had chosen it for him. In the years after his activation, hearing the first few bars still struck him with awe and terror.

A voice spoke to him. It was one of the voices he had heard before, but now he understood the words. And he knew it was addressed to him.

"You've been sleeping," it said. "It's time to wake up."

Later, he'd compare the experience to being pulled out of water. He felt as though he was being lifted, and then the world hit him like a thunderclap. A cacophony of noise and light pierced him. He was cold, and he shivered violently. He shut his eyes, hoping to escape, to sink back down to where he'd come from. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. It was terrible, terrible…

"Quick, Albert, get an electric blanket," said the voice. "Turn on the kerosene heater, too, while you're at it. It's freezing in here. We should have thought of that."

"We should have thought of a lot of things," said the voice of Albert. There was a shuffling away of footsteps, followed by their hasty return.

He heard a faint humming sound to his left, and an acrid smell filled his nose. Something soft and warm was thrown over him. He opened his eyes. This time, he clearly saw a light shining down into his face. He squinted to avoid it, and a hand reached across his field of vision and turned it off.

"Sorry about that too," said the first voice. "We're getting off to a bad start, aren't we?"

He saw the darkened outlines of two men's faces peering down at him. As his brand new optical nerves adjusted to the light, their features came into focus. The face on the left was round, framed by a thick graying beard with a few remaining streaks of black. It had a squat nose and warm, dark brown eyes. The face on the right was relatively gaunt and blue-eyed, with a moustache and a protruding cleft chin, crowned by a head that was mostly bald. A few tufts of grayish hair stuck out on either side.

"Sorry, indeed," said the owner of the bald head, Albert. "Most people, the first thing they ever set eyes on is a young woman. Usually there's even a titty or two, right after that. You, on the other hand, have to look at our ugly mugs."

He stared up at the two faces, blinking. He didn't understand anything Albert had said.

"Let's do a quick scan to make sure his systems are working as they should," said the first voice. He saw two pairs of hands going down below his field of vision. The blanket was adjusted, and the cloth covering his top half parted and pulled back. The faces disappeared, and he heard a soft clicking which he later placed as the sound of rapid typing into a netscreen.

The faces returned, but their eyes were focused on something off to the left.

"Seems good so far," said Albert, who looked down at him with a toothy grin. "Thank God. There's nothing wrong with you—yet."

He felt the odd sensation of something closing up in his chest. The cloth was wrapped around him once more, and the blanket was draped back on top.

"This is probably a little unpleasant for you," said the first voice. "That's normal. You're perfectly safe. Are you frightened? Shake your head if no."

He shook his head, and was surprised by the feeling. Somehow he'd known what to do, though this was his first ever time to do it.

Then, a quick flash of light, followed by a loud _click_, startled him.

"Aren't you going to ask him to say 'cheese'?" said Albert.

The other man chuckled, and peered downwards. "Now, I think some introductions are in order," he said. "We're your creators—well, two of them. My name is Tom, and he's Albert; but I suppose it would be appropriate for you to call us by our titles: Dr. Light and Dr. Wily."

"A modicum of respect is all we ask," said Dr. Wily, "considering all the time and effort it took us to make you. Not to mention money—well, most of it other people's." He winked. "A lot of it," he whispered, as if making a confession.

"Up until now, you've been in a kind of… dream state," said Dr. Light. "While you were there, we were engineering and refining your sensory input systems, forming your neural pathways, building your human-like body, and programming your CPU. Now you're finished, so we've activated you—brought you out into the real world, so you can start moving around, taking in data, manipulating the environment, acquiring socialization…"

Tom paused, and leaned in closer. The two sides of his mouth turned slightly upwards. "Sorry again. That means absolutely nothing to you, does it?"

He realized he wanted to say something. The words formed in his mind, and his mouth opened as if automatically. However, the sounds that came out were nothing but a slurred jumble of nonsense. He closed his mouth. Later, when he remembered this moment, he recognized it as his first time to feel embarrassed.

"You want to speak," said Dr. Light, "but you haven't yet learned how to form the words. Moving your mouth will take a little practice, just like moving your body. But don't worry: you're a quick learner. And I'm sure you have a lot to say." He pulled back the blanket. "Here, let's try something," he said. He reached down and touched his hand. "Can you feel that? Nod your head if yes."

He nodded. The man's hand on his own was warm.

Tom lifted the hand, and pulled it out from under the blanket. The rest of his arm followed. "Move your fingers," he said.

As if Dr Light himself had willed it to happen, the fingers moved.

"There you go," he said. "Now, squeeze my hand as hard as you can."

He closed his hand around Tom's and squeezed. He met some resistance, and couldn't go any more. He let his fingers open, and Dr. Light guided the hand back down to his side.

"That's good enough for now," he said. "We'll take this one step at a time. Soon you'll be up off this table and exploring. Would you like that?"

He nodded, feeling a surge of excitement. _Yes, I would like that very much._

With some gentle coaxing from Dr. Light and Dr. Wily, he then moved each of the fingers on his right hand, bent his wrists and elbows, and wiggled his toes.

They removed the blanket, but he was no longer cold. He turned his eyes to the left, toward the gentle hum of the kerosene heater, and realized he was in a large room with a grey floor and white walls. The surface he was lying on was hard and silver. The circular lamp, now turned off, was hanging above his head. From a corner, up near the ceiling, a little red light blinked down at him. For now, cameras of all kinds had no significance for him. In time, however, he would grow to hate them.

"We're going to move you into a sitting position now," said Dr. Light. "This may feel a bit strange."

Two pairs of hands grasped him by the arms, and he was pulled upward. His head lolled behind him; he hadn't yet learned to control the movements of his neck.

"Lift your head," said Albert.

A hand reached behind his scalp and steadied him until his sense of balance took over. Then, someone grabbed his legs and turned them until they dangled from the edge of the table. As Dr. Light had predicted, this did feel strange. His entire perspective had shifted—his creators were standing in front of him, and for the first time he could see that they had bodies as well as faces and hands. Both of them were wearing white lab coats.

He looked down at his own body. He saw both his hands, and, far away, his legs and feet. The rest was wrapped in a thin, soft, dark blue cloth—a bathrobe—that was tied at the waist.

Albert glanced up at him with an apologetic look. "Well, you have to admit," he said, "it's better than the birthday suits we got."

Just then, he felt himself tipping forward. Tom and Albert caught him and heaved him back into an upright position on the table, an action which he found slightly amusing.

"Albert, hold on to him for a moment," said Dr. Light. He let go, and reached for his camera. "Another photo for posterity," he said. There was a familiar flash of light, followed by a click. He blinked. The camera was set down onto a table in the corner of the room, and Dr. Light returned.

"All right, young man," said Dr. Wily, "you're heavy, and I'd appreciate it if you'd get off of me." He jabbed him lightly in the arm. "So, you're going to learn to walk now. How about it?"

He nodded. _Yes, I'd like to learn to walk._

Tom and Albert put their arms around his shoulders, lifted him by the knees, and lowered him to the floor. His bare feet met against cool, hard concrete.

"Straighten your legs," said Dr. Light. "First, you have to get used to supporting your own weight."

He'd been programmed with a finely tuned sense of balance, and it didn't take long. After a few minutes, he could stand on his own. After a few more, Tom stood at his side as he took his first step.

"Albert, do you mind?" said Tom, with a nod toward the camera.

"Again?" said Albert.

There was another flash of light and a click—he blinked and turned away—and this time the camera was held by Albert.

Right foot, left foot, right, left. Leaning against Tom, he took a few more stumbling steps forward. Each one was easier than the last. Before long, he was able to walk without support—slowly, stiffly, fawn-like. His creators watched him from a short distance with looks of approval.

"Now, come this way. We have a treat for you." Dr. Wily grabbed him by the hand and guided him toward the wall, where a full-length mirror was mounted.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at the image in the mirror. He saw a shock of navy blue—the oversized bathrobe he wore—and above it, his own face. It was smooth and clear, complemented by two big, dark eyes and a head full of thick black hair. _This is me._ He lurched forward on his unsteady feet to get a closer look.

"You're thinking: 'oh, what a relief,'" Dr. Wily said. "You're a damn sight better looking than we are. We had enough sense, at least, to make sure of that."

He began to wobble where he stood, so Albert maneuvered him into a sitting position in front of the mirror. He couldn't stop staring. He touched his nose, his ears, and his hair. Every part had a name that he recognized, though he'd never seen them before. He turned his attention to the rest of his body. He reached down. Arms. Hands. Legs. Feet…

"Don't worry; it's all there," said Albert. "Down to the fingerprints and nose hairs. Although, unfortunately for you, a few of the parts are only for show. Poor bastard."

"I wish you wouldn't make jokes at his expense," said Tom, standing behind them.

"Why?" said Albert. "He has no idea what I'm talking about." Albert bent down, and the reflection of his angular face peered across at him in the mirror. "Do you?"

He shook his head.

"He will remember," Tom said, and crossed his arms.

"So what? He's got to learn a sense of humor from somebody," said Albert. "He's not going to get it from you." He returned his eyes to the mirror, and gazed good-naturedly at the figure's earnest, wide-eyed reflection. Albert pinched him on the arm. "Does that hurt?" he said.

It did. He yanked his arm away.

"That means you're not dreaming," Albert said. "Welcome to life." He smiled. "A little beauty, and a little happiness, here and there. Mostly, a crock of shit."

"Albert," said Tom.

Albert didn't look up. "Your Uncle Albert isn't exactly the most innocent of souls. Not like that one there-" He pointed behind himself, at Tom. "But, at least, you can always count on me to tell you the truth.

"Well, Tom, am I wrong?" Albert turned around and let out a wheezy sigh. "Are you really sure you want to teach him to speak?" he said. "After all, once he starts yakking, it won't be long before he asks you why he's here."

Tom shot a dark look at his companion.

"Oh, right," said Albert. He raised his eyebrows. "I'll hush up now. Anyway, whether he's a success, or not, still remains to be seen. So far we know he's good at doing what we tell him, and that he's a bit vain. That's all."

"Things will become clearer within the next few days," said Tom, in a voice of restrained exasperation. "You know that. There's no reason to doubt we've succeeded."

"All I'm saying is, it's not time to open any champagne bottles quite yet. Let's try to take this calmly and rationally, like the men of science we are." Albert's voice became subdued. "It would be… a disappointment, to say the least, if this project fell short of the goal—especially since, thanks to you, we can't make any more changes to his programming." He peered down at the figure in the mirror with a look of compassion. "But that wouldn't be your fault, of course. You're just along for the ride."

He watched as the reflections of the two men exchanged a long look. The sight made him uncomfortable, though he didn't know why.

Finally, Dr. Light broke his gaze at Albert. "Well," he said, "we've got to call Judith."

"Right, your girlfriend." Albert laughed. "It's nearly three in the morning for her—not that she's going to mind."

Dr. Light turned and walked to the netscreen mounted on the adjacent wall. There was a flurry of typing, and a few moments of silent expectation.

"Tom? Is that you?" said the voice of Judith.

"Yes. Were you sleeping?"

"Of course not. He's here, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. Newly hatched."

"Oh, Tom!" There was a long pause. "Tell me, what's he doing now?"

"Admiring himself in the mirror."

There was a peal of laughter. "That's wonderful," she said. "Our handsome boy." Her voice was delicate and grainy, as though it contained bits of broken glass. "You know, I'd be there in a heartbeat if I could."

"I know. Just stay where you are and rest," said the voice of Tom. "Wouldn't you like to see him now, on the netscreen camera?"

"And pull him away from that mirror?" said Judith. "I'd never be so cruel. He can't speak yet anyway, right? For now, a video, or a picture or two, will suffice." She let out a gasp of excitement, and then there was a short pause. "Well, now that he's finished, perhaps you could do me a little favor and start on this teleportation idea of yours. Then I could pop over to your side of the world for a visit, and be back home for my cancer treatments by the afternoon."

"Right," Tom said. There was some reticence in his voice.

"Did I scare you?" said Judith. "Relax. They keep telling me it's only a bump in the road. Not like…" She stopped mid-sentence. "Anyway, send me that video as soon as you can, and I'll pass it along to Yuichi—by the way, did you hear he and his wife are expecting a baby any day now?"

"No, actually… I didn't know that. We haven't been in contact in months."

"And they're only a stone's throw away," said Judith. "You've got no excuse." She tut-tutted him. "You need to get out more, Tom. Have you been taking care of yourself at all lately? I hope you've been sleeping, at least—though, I suppose you can't do any of that now that you've got a baby to look after." She laughed. "Anyway, put Albert on, won't you?"

"I can hear you from right here, beautiful," said Albert.

"Charming, as always," said Judith. "How about you? Are you holding up well?"

"Well enough," said Albert. "Why? Are you going to insist on tucking me in and reading me a bedtime story too?"

"Actually, no," Judith said. There was playfulness in her voice. "I know you're not the type. Which reminds me: I hope you haven't poisoned our new guest against the world already."

"The world will do that just fine, all by itself," said Albert, without missing a beat.

"I thought you'd say something like that." She took an audibly deep breath. "Anyway, congratulations, and a happy new year to you all. And, Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Be kind."

For the being crouched in front of the mirror, these human voices around him were a blur of confusion. He knew the individual words they spoke, but when he tried to put them together their meaning was lost. He was ignorant of the forces at play between these people called Tom, Albert, and Judith—and Yuichi, who then was nothing more than a name. He only knew that he was helpless, and that he depended on them.

If he'd understood the full context behind his creators' words—especially Albert's—and known how crucial—but hopeless—it was that they remain strong and united for his sake, he would have been terrified.

But now, Dr. Light had finished his call with Judith, and he approached the mirror with a broad smile. He clasped his hands together. "Well, are you ready to see something else?" he said. "Want to go outside?"

He raised his head. Outside. _This means I'm going to see trees._ Tree—the word had the comforting ring of the familiar.

Dr. Light pulled him to his feet, and wrapped a steady arm around his shoulder.

"You'll need my help," said Albert, and followed along behind. "There's a flight of stairs in the way."

Slowly, they guided him up the steps. When they had reached the top, Dr. Light opened a door and the house spread out in front of them.

He toddled ahead, pulling the two men along with him. There were windows all around, and the house, quiet and still, was bathed in the soft white light of a winter's morning.

"This way," Dr. Light said, steering him toward the living room. His feet brushed against something cool and slightly springy, and the smell of tatami mats filled his nose. They passed by a low table, and he tripped on a zabuton cushion. The two men at his sides grabbed him before he hit the floor, and, grunting, set him back on his feet.

"Christ," said Albert. "At least you don't have to be toilet trained."

To his left he noticed a green lidded jar, and a photo of a woman, placed in a butsudan—though, at the time, he didn't care what any of these things were. He was only thinking about trees.

Perhaps he could even say the word. It was just one syllable, and he wanted to try. He opened his mouth.

"Ki-"

Albert turned and stared at him. "Did you say something?" he said.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a netphone. He turned on the camera feature. "Say it again," he said.

"Ki…"

"Tree?"

He nodded.

"You know there will be trees outside, don't you?" said Tom.

He nodded again.

"Trees on the brain," said Albert. "That forest simulation—whose idea was that to begin with, anyway?"

Tom glanced at the photograph in the butsudan. "Hers," he said.

"Well, she would be pleased." Albert slid open a closet door and pulled out a black wool coat, which he draped over the bathrobe. "You'll need this," he said. They led him to a curtained window on the other side of the room.

Here, Dr. Light parted the curtains and opened the door. He reached down, and slipped a pair of shoes on each of their feet. Then they stepped out together into the cold. Albert remained on the concrete step at the entrance, in his house slippers, watching in silence with Dr. Light's camera in hand.

He was dismayed by what he saw. Most of the trees in the garden, except for the two pines, were missing their leaves. Compared to the ones he had seen in his "dream state," they looked dull, sad, and sickly. The grass was brown.

He craned his head back to look at the sky. Instead of blue, it was pale and grey. The sun was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't even hear the sound of the wind.

_What's wrong with everything?_ He looked at Tom, who was watching him with great interest. He wanted to speak more than ever. _It's wrong, it's all wrong_. If he could only say the words, perhaps Dr. Light, or Dr. Wily, could do something to fix the problem. But he hadn't even yet learned to make facial expressions; though he was in distress, there was no way his creators could know.

There was one thing, however, that stood out to him from among the palette of grays and browns. In the left side of the garden was a little tree whose leaves were still green. It was covered in flat, brilliant pink flowers with bright yellow centers. He took a few halting steps forward; Tom realized where he wanted to go, and half-carried him in the right direction. Though he'd never seen the tree with his own eyes before, he heard the three syllables of its name pronounced in his head. _Tsu-ba-ki_. He reached out and took one of the flowers in his hand. Some of the yellow pollen rubbed off onto his thumb.

"You like this camellia?" said Dr. Light.

He looked up at Dr. Light and nodded.

"It's a rare winter bloomer," Dr. Light said. "If you want to see more flowers in this garden, you'll have to wait until spring."

A sound filled his ears, shrill and barking. He craned his head upwards again. Far above him, the black figures of two dozen crows glided across the sky.

"You're in a place called Shizuoka," said Dr. Light, "in a country called Japan. The date is January 3rd, 2061. It's Monday." He looked down at his watch. "It's 11:14 in the morning—and, oh yes—your name is Blues."


	2. Postpartum

The man was crouched behind a tree, far away at the edge of the property. Blues saw his head peeking out once in a while with a camera in front of his face, directed at him. The sight of the camera was nothing unusual—cameras were a regular feature of his life so far—but he'd never seen this man before. He stood frozen at the window, watching. This was the first human, other than Dr. Light and Dr. Wily, he'd seen in person. He was fascinated.

Within the first few months of his activation, pieced together from the words of his creators and whatever scraps of comprehensible data he could gather from the netscreen, a tentative cosmology took shape in his mind. The world was full of many types of living things, and he belonged firmly in the human sphere, though he was not one of them.

Unlike them, he didn't have to eat. Instead, once every five days or so, he inserted the pronged end of a white cord into a tiny hole in his navel. It was connected to a generator, a small cube-shaped box which was his source of energy and life.

Although he looked similar to them, he was made of different materials, or so they said: wires, circuits, lightweight titanium, and synthetic skin, instead of flesh and bone. If he got a small bump or scrape somewhere—and he had many in his first days of life, before his senses of balance and depth perception had finished calibrating themselves—a host of nanobots, instead of cells, would spring into action to repair the wound.

They told him he had a perfect memory, unlike them. When he slept, he didn't dream, unlike them. He could not get sick, and would never grow old, unlike them.

However, it was not the differences they were most concerned with, but the similarities. They said that he had a human mind, with the same capacity for reason and emotion. He could choose his own actions, within the range of human possibilities, instead of following a preset directive. With the obvious exception of taste, he could experience the world through all the human senses; he could then make connections between sensations and empirical data, and create meaning. It was this effort to create meaning, they explained, that made him more than the sum of his parts.

According to Tom and Albert, he was unique in the truest sense of the word—the only one in the whole world. Although his existence was unprecedented, he didn't yet understand its implications, and he didn't mind. The two men kept him comfortable, let him recharge whenever he wanted, and took a tremendous interest in him. At the time, that was enough. It seemed he was at the center of their universe, and in fact he was right—and he assumed the rest of humanity, if it knew of him, would regard him in the same way.

After his creators had finished training him in the use of his fine and gross motor skills, and were satisfied with his speech development, they began presenting him with a series of things which they hoped would capture his attention. There were puzzles, at first simple, then increasingly difficult. Some were manipulatives, and others were netscreen images.

Later, they gave him a few sketchbooks and a pencil and asked him to draw whatever he liked—so he went out into the garden and scribbled trees. Then, he was presented with art books, and music—which he listened to through a pair of headphones, an object that he grew as fond of as his little box-shaped generator. Whatever he did, there was Dr. Light's camera flashing all around him, and Dr. Wily typing notes into a netscreen. The sketchbooks, once filled, were gathered up and bound together. "Evidence," they called it. Evidence of what, he had no clue.

In exchange for all of this, there was one rule he had to follow, and it was repeated to him over and over again in stern tones. Although he could go out into the garden—which was enclosed by a high stone wall—whenever he wanted, he was not allowed to exit the front of the house unaccompanied.

When he wished to enter the woods that lined Dr. Light's property—and in the spring, the desire became overwhelming—Albert would go out first, trudge in a wide circle around the perimeter, and give the all-clear. Then, Blues would follow Dr. Light into the trees to be set loose, within limits, to explore. All the while, Tom never took his eyes off of him, and Albert paced back and forth in the distance, looking outwards.

To ensure his compliance with the rule, Dr. Light established a nightly ritual that was followed to the letter. When Blues became sleepy and was settled into his futon, sometimes with the beloved generator plugged in and set on the floor beside him, he heard Dr. Light's footsteps moving through the house, and the sound of all windows and doors being closed and locked. Then, from the foyer, he heard six faint beeping notes: the code for the security system, which was kept a secret from him.

Of course, he asked Dr. Light the reason for the rule.

"The rule is for your safety," Dr. Light replied. "That's all."

_Safety_. The opposite of danger, something which he had not yet experienced and could not even imagine. The world still seemed to him like a benevolent place. He obeyed Dr. Light's rule, but didn't understand it.

That's why, that day, he watched the stranger from the window with curiosity instead of fear.

He heard Dr. Light's voice call out from another part of the house. "Albert, do you see that?"

"Yes, I do," said the voice of Dr. Wily. "Where is Blues?"

"In the study. My God, are the curtains open?"

He heard Albert's footsteps pounding up the hallway. The door flew open, Albert came through, and Blues was yanked backwards by the collar of his shirt with a force that sent him crashing to the floor.

"Get away from there," said Albert, as he shut the curtains and enveloped the room in darkness.

Blues looked up at Albert in shock. He touched the front of his neck, which was in pain.

"Sorry," Albert said, held out his hand, and pulled him to his feet.

"Who was that?" said Blues, pointing to the window.

"The Devil, as far as we're concerned."

Blues wanted to ask Dr. Wily what that meant, but he stopped himself before opening his mouth. Although Dr. Wily had promised to always tell him the truth, it seemed that the truth never quite came in a form Blues could comprehend.

He remembered when, just a week ago, he had turned to Dr. Light and asked why he'd been created. Dr. Light had looked at him, turned red, and stammered—but Albert had stepped forward and said with a smile, "well, to lie in the sun and listen to Chopin all day. And that's fortunate, because you happen to be very good at it."

Albert had then narrowed his eyes at Tom. "There, I've bought you some time," he'd said. "Be grateful I was here when the dreaded question came out."

But now, he followed Dr. Wily at a run into the hallway. Blues had no reason to doubt Albert's words; however, just now, for the first time in his short life, he began to feel that something was being withheld from him.

Tom was waiting for them in the foyer with his shoes on and his hand pressing on the door handle. His face was pale.

"Blues," he said, his voice low and tremulous, "what did you see?"

"A man with a camera," Blues said.

"Was he taking pictures of you?"

"I think so," said Blues.

Tom looked at Albert and let out a groan. "Well, I'm going out," he said. "Keep him away from the windows until I get back."

"Understood," said Albert.

With a sigh, Tom took his netphone from his pocket and plodded out the door. When he returned a few minutes later, his face was white.

"Well?" said Albert, his arms crossed. "What happened?"

"I managed to get a picture of his face," Tom said. "Then, I made a phone call. Takayama said he'd… take care of it."

"Take care of it?" said Albert. "Good God. The way you say it, it sounds like Takayama's going to off him."

"Bribe him, or threaten him, I expect," Tom said. His voice was heavy.

"I'd put my money on 'threaten,'" said Albert, and clicked his tongue. "Poor sap."

Blues stepped forward. "Why couldn`t that man see me?" he said.

Both of the men`s faces turned toward him with anxious looks. "Nevermind that, Blues," said Dr. Wily. "He`s gone now. How about a walk?"

"No," Blues said. "I don`t want to go for a walk. I want to know the answer to my question."

"Well, there you go," said Albert to Tom. "Here`s more of this `making meaning` thing that you`ve been looking for. Too bad we didn`t get it on camera, and that you`re not going to be able to give him an answer."

Blues looked at Dr. Light. "I don`t understand," he said. "Why can`t you give me an answer?"

Tom put his hands up. "I know you`re curious," he said. "That`s a good thing." He let out a deep sigh. "But, for now, there are some things I can`t tell you."

"Then, what if I ask something else?" said Blues. "Why I was created—why is it the `dreaded question`?"

Tom gave Albert a hard stare.

Albert scratched his head and laughed. "It was just a joke, Blues. I didn`t really mean it."

Blues turned to Albert. "What`s a crock of shit?"

Albert gave him a funny look. "What are you talking about?" he said.

"You said life is mostly a crock of shit," said Blues.

"I did?"

"Yes." Although he knew the meanings of the words, the full expression didn`t make sense. Blues didn`t realize how ridiculous the question was. At the time, to him, it seemed vitally important.

A look of recognition dawned on Tom`s face. "Don`t you remember?" he said to Albert. "You said it the day we activated him."

Albert scratched his chin. "I suppose I did," he said. He looked at Blues, and let out a wheezy laugh. "It doesn`t mean anything, Blues."

Blues shook his head. "But you said..."

"I was being facetious," said Albert. "Sardonic. Wry. Irreverent." He tapped Blues on the side of his head. "You have those words up in here, don`t you?"

Blues didn`t reply. He knew what the words meant, but was still green to the nuances of human social interaction—and he couldn`t imagine why someone would say something that wasn`t true.

* * *

><p>On a typical day, Albert came every morning at ten and left at six. During those eight hours, he and Tom observed and documented Blues, recorded their conversations with him, and provided him with new puzzles or activities to try. In the afternoon there was often a netscreen chat with Judith, who`d introduced herself to Blues as one of his creators, and oohed and aahed at him between her analyses of his sketches or performance on his latest computerized logic test. Sometimes she asked him, in her gentle voice, whether he was okay. He wasn`t entirely sure what she meant, so he always answered that he was.<p>

Once in a while, especially on weekends, Albert lingered on late into the night as he and Tom shared a bottle of whiskey over old memories. Most evenings, though, saw Blues and Tom alone together. Tom prepared a simple meal for himself—usually, something that didn`t require a lot of effort. Then he sat at the small oak dining table in the kitchen and ate, as the day`s last light peeked in through a crack between the curtains and formed a white line across the floor.

One evening, Blues was outside in the garden watching a flock of sparrows congregate noisily on the stone wall, when Tom opened the door behind him and stepped out.

Blues turned his head, and Tom cleared his throat.

"Blues," he said, with his hands behind his back. "I`d like to... ask you something. Would you... sit with me a little, while I eat?"

It had become their ritual ever since. Tom told him about his childhood in Gunma, his American father, his years at Tokyo University (from which he graduated at the age of seventeen), his overseas postdoctoral studies in computer science, and the woman named Catherine whose photograph and ashes were enshrined in the family butsudan.

Blues was told that Catherine was another of the many people to whom he owed his existence. But when Tom spoke about her, his voice took on a special quality. His eyes darted around a lot, and he stumbled over his words.

Catherine had been dead for many years. And what about Tom`s life since then? A blur of sleeplessness, headaches, and work propelled by euphoric flashes of insight. On one hand it was like an eternity; on the other, with nothing at all to distinguish one day from the next except for the gradual coming together of Blues`s body and mind, the time seemed to Tom to pass by in an instant.

Although Blues didn`t know it then, there were many things about that period of Tom`s life that were left unsaid.

Still only a few months old, Blues did not yet have much to talk about. Content mostly just to listen, he was grateful for any information that helped him to make sense of the world and his own place in it. And, as he sat night after night across the table from this man who had created him, he began to feel something new. It was similar to the disappointment he`d felt before his activation when his sense of self had distinguished itself from the world. He wanted to close the distance between himself and Dr. Light, but he didn`t know how to do it, or even how to put his predicament into words.

Later, after the six-digit activation of the security system, Blues retired to his futon and Tom wished him good night—but the walls were thin, and Blues learned a lot with his ears. Sometimes he heard the clinking of bottles, and the distinct sound of a second or third neat glass of whiskey being poured. He heard footsteps pacing slowly around the house, and when they stopped in front of the butsudan, as they did from time to time, he knew exactly what sound would come next.

Sobbing.

"I've been thinking a lot about something Catherine said a long time ago," Tom said to Albert once, when Blues was in a different room but not quite out of earshot.

"That doesn't surprise me," said Albert.

"When the project first began, she gave us a warning," Tom said, "about how we were going to feel when we were finished. Do you remember?"

"Oh, yes," Albert said. "Something about a 'sense of profound loss.'"

Of course, she had been right.

Sometimes, when Blues lay in semi-darkness with the soft duvet pulled up to his chin, he stared up at the wooden panels in the ceiling and wondered what was missing from his life. The question gnawed at him. Tom and Albert were kind and patient, even indulgent, and he had everything he wanted—or knew at the time that he wanted—but he wasn't happy. What was it?

Yes, something was missing, something he needed from the two men who'd created him and were taking care of him. It was an abstract, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It would be years before he figured it out. (A gold star to you, reader, if you can guess what it was.)

The night after the man with the camera had been "taken care of," Blues couldn`t relax, even with the generator on the floor beside him and Schumann playing through his headphones. Dr. Light had already retired to bed, so the clinking of glass, the shuffling of the man`s feet, and the question of whether or not Catherine`s shrine would be visited tonight was no longer there to haunt him.

On his first day of life, Dr. Light had called him a "quick learner." It was the truth. He could remember, with perfect clarity, every word his creators said to him—or about him. Right now his world was very small, and he was innocent and docile; but he realized a time was coming, sooner or later, when he would ask again for his questions to be answered, and would no longer take "no" for an answer.


	3. Closed Curtains

"Well, let`s hear it, then," said Dr. Wily. He settled into his chair, crossed his left ankle over his right knee, and held the camera up to his face.

Blues put his fingers down on the keys and listened for the _beep_ which meant the camera had started recording. The study was still and quiet, and the curtains were drawn. He glanced to his side at Albert, whose posture, so unlike his own, was relaxed and receptive.

With a raise of his eyebrows, Albert waved his hand at him. "Go on," he said. "What are you looking at me for?"

Blues turned toward the piano, closed his eyes, and began to play. The piece was Chopin`s etude 10, part 3, and a wave of relief washed over him as soon as the first few notes reached his ears. He loved the slow progression of the melody, followed by the ecstatic series of chromatic fourths, and most of all the gentle reprise at the end. And after only two days of practice, he could now play it all from memory.

It had been only a small step from his early appreciation for music, to the realization that he could reproduce the beloved sounds on the upright Yamaha piano in Dr. Light`s study. His creators had been happy to oblige, and they supplied him with heavy binders full of sheet music: Schumann, Beethoven, Scarlatti, Liszt, and of course Chopin. Among these, the last was his favorite, and he spent long hours sitting at the bench pouring over nocturnes and mazurkas, committing finger movements to memory.

The study became his favorite room in the house. Sometimes, when it was time for bed, Dr. Light was unable to pull him away from the piano. So, instead of tucking him into the futon in his bedroom as usual, he would bring the generator, set it down on the bench, and leave Blues to himself—and after practicing deep into the night, exhausted, Blues would curl up and let sleep overtake him in the armchair where Albert now sat.

They were surprised by his rapid progress, even as they reasoned out loud to themselves that it made perfect sense. For them, his interest in music, and the fact that he had taken taken up the hobby of his own volition, was valuable evidence of his humanity. For him, it was a welcome escape. As long as he was here, with his mind occupied by musical transcendence, he was able to forget he was a prisoner.

The piece came to an end. Blues heard the _beep_ which signaled that Albert had stopped recording, and he turned toward the man in the armchair.

"Your technique`s not bad," said Dr. Wily, putting the camera down in his lap. "You even nailed the difficult bit in the middle. But there`s no feeling behind the notes. You play like a..." He smirked. "Like a..."

"Like a what?" said Blues.

Albert doubled over in hysterics.

Blues continued to stare at him, his fingers still resting on the keys. He didn`t have a clue what was so funny.

Dr. Wily turned off the camera, got up, and sat beside him on the bench. "Dear boy," he said. "That serious, wide-eyed expression of yours—it looks just like Tom`s. There`s no question which of us you spend most of your time with. Kind of a shame, really.

"You know, after Catherine died, I thought this piano would collect dust here forever. Thank you for bringing it back to life." He smiled, and planted a fatherly kiss on Blues`s forehead.

The small gesture of affection took Blues by surprise. He wasn`t sure how to react, so he did nothing; but he decided just then that, if he was ever forced to choose between the two—the kind, earnest, but distant Tom, or the glib and playful Albert, he would cast his lot in with the latter.

"Anyway," said Albert, "of course you can`t play this piece with feeling yet. Chopin was nostalgic for his native Poland, but what could you possibly be nostalgic for?"

"There is something," said Blues.

Albert raised his eyebrows at him. "There is?"

"The forest simulation."

"You don`t say?" Albert leaned back and crossed his arms. "It wasn`t even real."

"It seemed real." Blues lifted his head and looked around the room, until his eyes settled at last on Albert. "Sometimes, I think it was more real than this."

Dr. Wily`s smile broadened. "You have a point, there," he said. Then he gazed down at Blues`s fingers on the keys, and was silent for at least a minute. His smile slowly faded. Blues watched him with a tinge of paranoia, wondering why the man`s expression had suddenly become dark. When Albert tried to speak again, his voice cracked. "I`m... I`m sorry, Blues."

"Sorry for what?" He knew better than to expect a forthright answer, but hoped for one all the same.

Dr. Wily looked down at his camera, and forced out a laugh. "Damn it all," he said. "Existential angst—that would have been good `evidence.`"

"Wait," said Blues, and leaned closer. "If you ever hurt me, I would remember it. So, what are you sorry for?" The question took on a sudden sense of urgency. Albert often apologized to him for no apparent reason, and since the end of summer the frequency of "sorrys" had started increasing. "Unless... there`s something you haven`t told me."

Blues thought he saw a little spark of fear in Dr. Wily`s eyes, but it fizzled out as quickly as it had appeared. "Well, I`m sorry about your name," Albert said at last. "I`m the one to blame for it. Blues: it`s an old kind of music. Sad, like this etude you`re playing. You see, Tom hasn`t been himself for a long time—most of the time we were putting you together. It started out as a joke, but it just took. Now you`re stuck with it. It`s even written into your code."

Blues looked down at his lap. He`d never thought, or cared, about the meaning of his name before.

"You can change it if you want, I suppose," said Albert. "You can be a Taro, or a Ren, or whatever."

"I don`t mind," said Blues. Again, he felt disappointed. Though he was grateful for Albert`s story, he knew all along it had been nothing more than a misdirection.

With a smile, Dr. Wily picked up his camera, rose, and went back to his chair. "Anyway, I want you to play that piece again," he said. "From the top. Think of your dream forest while you do it. Let`s do it one more time. With _feeling_."

* * *

><p>They were hiding something from him. He couldn`t imagine what it was, but he knew it had to be important. It was as obvious as the fact that they were hiding <em>him<em> from the world. And, just recently, he`d been making their job more difficult.

It wasn`t intentional at first. It started with small acts of defiance, like when he climbed the cherry tree in the garden to get a peek over the top of the stone wall, and Dr. Light had to ask him more than once to come down. Or how, during one of their usual walks in the forest, he suddenly sprinted ahead, leaving Tom and Albert shouting and huffing behind him.

When at last he gave in to their commands to come back, Dr. Light grabbed him by the arm. "Blues," he said, almost at a growl, "you have to obey the rule."

"What if I don`t?" He was surprised to hear a straight answer.

"Then there will be no more walks."

"Better listen to him, young man," said Albert, and lowered the camera to wink at him. "Do it for the sake of the trees."

They tightened the reins. They watched him constantly, and even followed him sometimes when he moved from room to room. The security system was left activated even during the day. Worst of all, his netscreen access was restricted—which was like seeing yet another window to the outside shut and concealed behind a curtain.

Just as his thirst for knowledge was reaching its peak, Blues`s world was shrinking around him, but he tried to keep his anger in check out of fear of seeing it shrink even further.

He began to resent their tests and puzzles. He was even starting to tire of his netscreen correspondence with Judith, who since summer had been encouraging him to talk about whatever he wanted. She listened to him with a nonjudgmental ear, her face was warm and kind, and her voice was full of love—but he knew that she was meticulously recording their every interaction, and whenever he asked her a forbidden question about himself and his life, she was just as silent as her colleagues.

One day in November, he refused to participate. Instead, he went out alone into the garden where he sat glaring at the stone wall, willing it to disappear. When he looked behind him, he saw Tom and Albert standing on the other side of the sliding glass door, whispering to each other. Just then, a noise above him caught his attention, and he glanced up: a flock of honking ducks in V formation was making its way slowly across the sky. He experienced a rush of excitement at these new creatures entering his awareness, but the feeling was soon replaced with bitter envy.

He hated the cameras most of all. He knew he was being kept in the dark about their true purpose, and they were intrusive and omnipresent. Just when he had calmed his mind enough to concentrate on something he enjoyed, like the penciled shading of a tree branch in one of his sketchbooks, or an attempt to sight read a new etude, _beep_ went the camera, followed by a flash of light that blinded him.

"Stop it," he said, once in a while, but they explained in regretful tones that they could not.

If he couldn`t get them to stop, he thought, he could at least sabotage their efforts to get the evidence they wanted.

"Tell me about this picture you sketched today," said Dr. Light, a few days after Blues had first seen the ducks. "What were you thinking as you drew this?" It was a sketch he had drawn from memory of the V drifting toward the southern sky, and in the foreground was the maple tree in the right hand corner of the garden, each individual leaf filled in brilliantly in red colored pencil.

Blues was annoyed by the question. He looked toward Dr. Light`s video camera without expression. "Nothing," he said. "I wasn`t thinking anything."

Tom took a deep breath, and forced a patient smile. "I see," he said. "Well, what made you want to draw this, instead of the pine trees, or the camellia, or something inside the house, for example?"

"It`s just what I saw," said Blues.

Albert, who had been watching their exchange in silence from his chair on the other side of the room, jumped to his feet, yanked the camera out of Tom`s hands, and shut it off.

"Kid, let me clue you in on something." Albert loomed over him, so close that Blues could smell a trace of the previous night`s whiskey on his breath. "I know what you are, and so does your `daddy` here, and your netscreen `mommy.` The rest of the world, on the other hand, is going to need some convincing. That`s where this comes in." He patted the camera as if it was a beloved cat. "Considering all that advanced processing power we gave your CPU, when the camera`s rolling, at least, you could do us a favor and act like there`s something going on in there."

Tom bristled. "For God`s sake, Albert, I`ve asked you not to talk to him like that."

"I`m just helping you out, old friend." Albert placed his hand on his chest in a mocking _mea culpa_ gesture. "It`s what you`re thinking anyway, isn`t it?" He sighed, and put a hand on Blues`s shoulder. "No matter how much it tortures the boy, these videos have to get filmed, and the evidence has to be compiled. After all, this is about the advancement of your career."

"That`s enough," said Dr. Light in a rising voice. Then he turned to Blues, and the look in his eyes transformed from anger to fear. "Don`t listen to him, Blues. What he said just now—that`s not how I feel about you. Not at all."

"You have a choice, Tom," Albert said. "I believe you`re not quite as kind as you`d like him to think you are. You can either admit I`m right—or accept that you`re just a puppet, and that you`ve given up all accountability whatsoever. Which is it?"

What happened next took Blues completely by surprise. Tom, his face beet red, grabbed Albert by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of sight into the hallway. Blues heard a scuffle, followed by a door slam. He ran after the two men to find that they had gone downstairs into the lab with the door locked behind them. He heard muffled shouting—first the deep and booming voice of Dr. Light, and then Dr. Wily`s response, a little higher in pitch but no less forceful.

Frightened, but at the same time filled with nervous excitement, Blues put his ear against the door in hopes of catching some of the content of their argument. He knew it held the key to some of his questions—but the lab was huge, Tom had pulled Albert away into the farthest corner, and their voices seemed to come at him through several layers of cotton gauze.

Blues heard two sets of heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, and he jumped aside. The door flew open and out came Albert, sweaty and flustered, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes settled on Blues, and with an apologetic glance he turned away and scurried toward the door. Tom burst into the hallway after him, fists clenched, with a look of murder in his eyes.

"Get out, get out!"

"Calm down, Tom, would you?" said Albert. He was crouched in the foyer in front of his shoes, shielding himself with his hands. Compared to Dr. Light, who was towering over him, he looked surprisingly small and frail. "It was... merely a suggestion."

"Shut up, and get out of this house!" Tom said.

Albert yanked his shoes on, threw his coat over his shoulders, and put his hand on the door handle. "One more thing," he said, and pointed a shaking finger at Blues. "This mess we`ve all gotten ourselves into—it`s bigger than him. Remember that."

He turned and flung open the door, and the blaring wail of a siren pierced the air. Blues put his hands over his ears. Dr. Light gritted his teeth, rushed forward, and pushed a wincing Albert out the door. In his haste to leave, he`d forgotten all about deactivating the security system.

Dr. Light punched a few numbers into the panel on the wall to stop the noise. Still red, and taking deep labored breaths, he steadied himself against the wall, then cast a terrified glance in Blues`s direction. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Blues turned and walked away. He went into the study, sat down at the bench, and started playing. He knew Dr. Light wasn`t going to give him an explanation for what had just happened, so he didn`t bother asking for one.

* * *

><p>That evening, he lay down on his futon as usual, and Tom wished him good night and slid shut his bedroom door. But, instead of giving in to sleep, Blues stared up at the ceiling and waited. He heard the familiar clinking of glass, the sound of drinks being poured one after another. An hour passed, then two. Finally, he heard Dr. Light`s footsteps retiring to his own room, followed shortly by the man`s gentle snoring.<p>

Blues got up, slid open the door, and tiptoed out into the hall. He was determined to have an hour or so to do whatever he liked in peace, without the clicking and flashing of cameras to disturb him. The house was dark except for the faint glow of the paper andon lamp in the living room, which cast long shadows across the floor. He went to the window next to the foyer, parted the curtains which had been, of course, drawn, and peered outside. He saw the still grey expanse of the field in front of the house, the dirt road swerving off to the left, and Dr. Light`s car parked to the side. Far in the distance was the opening to the forest, a line of sugis whose tops were black against the night sky, and hovering over them, a brilliant full moon.

He realized he wanted his sketchbooks and pencils. He went to the cabinet in the living room, where the art supplies were kept; but when he opened the drawer, a strange feeling came over him. All of his sketchbooks but one—the one containing the picture he`d been compelled to talk about on camera today—were gone.

He checked each of the other drawers one at a time, and discovered that the collection of video disks Dr. Light had been compiling since the day of his activation was gone too.

Blues then combed through the items on the bookshelf on the adjacent wall. Unsuccessful, and increasingly unsettled, he stepped into the hall, and his eyes came to rest on the darkened outline of the door that led downstairs into the lab.

He hesitated at the top step, staring down into the pitch black below. A rush of cold air rose up to meet him. With his right hand, he felt along the wall, and his fingers brushed against a switch. He pushed it, and the room beneath his feet was flooded in humming fluorescent light. He was careful to shut the door quietly behind him, and he descended the stairs one wary step at a time.

Dr. Light`s lab spread out in front of him. There was the netscreen mounted on one wall, flanked by half a dozen framed diplomas, above a desk littered with papers; a massive bookcase crammed with files and disks, and a few unused tables that had been pushed into one corner beneath the room`s one tiny window up near the ceiling. Off to the side, behind a door Blues knew would be locked, was the storage room where Dr. Light kept all his tools and materials. There was the kerosene heater, unplugged and stowed under the desk, and four large tanks of fuel next to the staircase. And near the middle of the room was the stainless steel table, with its circular work lamp hanging above it, where Blues had first awakened eleven months ago.

He shivered. He had never liked this room, and rarely came down here. The fluorescent lights were grating, the walls dull white, and in the winter it was always freezing cold. On the other hand, as the place where he had been assembled and activated, he regarded it with a kind of terrified awe.

Steeling himself, he descended the final step, and his bare feet met ice cold concrete. He remembered his objective. He ran to the desk and leafed through the papers, then he scoured the bookcase; finding nothing, he haplessly made one last circuit around the room, finally lowering himself, defeated, into Dr. Light`s desk chair. Ready to give up, he put his head down into his hands and let his confusion overtake him.

Just then, he felt a slight warmth in his midsection, tinged with pain. The sensation radiated slowly outward until it reached his fingers and toes, and he shuddered. He had never experienced anything like it before. Even after the original shock of pain was gone, it lingered on afterwards at a subdued intensity, and his head and limbs felt strangely heavy. He had the sudden urge to go upstairs and plug himself into his generator, although it had been only three days since his last charge.

For now, however, he pushed his feelings of discomfort out of his mind. In front of him was Dr. Light`s netscreen, silent and dark, which he needed a password to access. He placed his fingers on the keyboard, and the screen lit up and sprung to life. A black line appeared on the screen, waiting to be filled by the right combination of characters. He`d long dreamed of breaking in. Just now a swirl of information had coalesced in his mind, and he had a theory he wanted to try—and with Dr. Light asleep and oblivious upstairs, now was his chance.

He remembered the time, early in the summer, when he had discovered an old photo album on the living room bookshelf: pictures of Catherine as a girl, a young woman, and, later, as Tom`s wife. Although Blues had never met her, and in fact knew very little about her, the photographs fascinated him as an artifact of Dr. Light`s previous life. He knew the man had loved her deeply, and loved her still—that much was apparent—and one of the photos of Catherine`s eighth birthday yielded an important piece of information. At the bottom of the picture, which captured a lanky, long-haired little girl blowing out the eight candles on her birthday cake, was a handwritten date: May 12, 2016.

It was too easy. All he had to do was subtract eight years, convert the month to digits, and Blues had the password he needed.

He was in. The pain in his midsection returned to gnaw at him, but he did his best to ignore it. He felt a surge of triumph. The netscreen was going to give up its secrets—and Blues, at last, was going to learn some answers.

Little did he know that his struggle for the truth about his life would soon by eclipsed by the spectre of its abrupt and early end.


	4. A Problem With Objective Language

**January 3rd, 2061**

_Following initial activation, the subject (DRN-000) is alert and responsive to stimuli. A shiver reflex is observed as a result of the room being cold. The eyes follow, and focus on, objects entering the field of vision. Eye contact with Dr. Wily and myself is observed. Diagnostic findings report all systems have come online successfully. _

_ The subject demonstrates comprehension of simple instructions given in spoken Japanese. A vocalization is observed eight minutes post-activation, but it is unintelligible._

_ After several minutes of training, the subject can walk with assitance. Gross motor movements are laborious and stiff. An averse reaction to the sudden bright light of the camera is noted by a blink reflex and/or a turn of the head._

_ At thirty nine minutes after activation, the subject demonstrates recognition of its own image in a mirror. _

_ At sixty five minutes after activation, the subject vocalizes an intelligble word for the first time ("tree"). This is believed not to be a coincidence, as the subject soon after spends nearly forty minutes looking at the trees in the garden._

**January 6th, 2061**

_The subject can walk without assistance. Gross motor movements are steady. _

_ Speech development: the subject can pronounce the first ten sounds of the Japanese syllabary with accuracy (a-i-u-e-o-ka-ki-ku-ke-ko)._

**January 19th, 2061**

_Gross motor movements are now fluid and natural in appearance. Fine motor skills are continuing to develop. The subject can now write legibly._

_ Speech development: the subject can pronounce all 46 Japanese syllables and most English sounds. The subject is competent in basic verbal communication and can express needs and wants._

_ Social development: eye contact is appropriate and naturalistic. Facial expressions are used to convey emotions. "Happy," "angry," "surprised," and "distressed" have been observed._

**April 29th, 2061**

_The subject`s temperament is becoming more pronounced. Introverted. Likes nature and music. Inquisitive. Easily startled by sudden or loud noises. Prefers concrete over abstract thinking. __**Does not like surprises.**_

_ The subject enjoys drawing, especially trees, flowers, and other features of the natural world._

_ Empathy was demonstrated for the first time today when the subject saw an injured crow in the forest and asked me how it could be helped._

**May 16th, 2061**

_For the first time, the subject asked me why he exists. This predates my estimate by six months._

**September 1st, 2061**

_The subject displayed significant distress following yesterday morning`s earthquake. I explained the cause of the phenomenon, and he spent the rest of the day reading about plate techtonics on the netscreen. Frightened by aftershocks. Was very upset to learn about the toll of the `33 Tokai earthquake. Couldn`t sleep that night. Asked me to stay by his side._

**September 20th, 2061**

_Last week, the subject began playing the piano. It was his decision, and in fact he is teaching himself. He now spends a minimum of four hours practicing each day. Is making incredible progress (see attached video files). _

**November 9th, 2061**

(deleted)

**November 17th, 2061**

(deleted)

**November 20th, 2061**

(deleted)

* * *

><p>From: Tadashi Takayama<p>

To: Thomas X. Light

Date: 5/23/61

Subject: Re: intruder

Dear Dr. Light,

Thank you for your cooperation regarding the tabloid reporter who was taking photos on your property. We have identified him, and are preparing to contact him today. Please let me know about any other such incidents as they happen. They will be dealt with appropriately.

Takayama

* * *

><p>From: Tadashi Takayama<p>

To: Thomas X. Light

Date: 9/2/61

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: DRN-000

Dear Dr. Light,

Again, I must remind you to use _objective language_ in your logs. This is not the time and place for you to write about DRN-000`s "feelings."

Thank you for your cooperation.

Takayama

* * *

><p>From: Thomas X. Light<p>

To: Tadashi Takayama

Date: 11/25/61

Subject: urgent

Dear Mr. Takayama,

I am writing to you to shed some light on the events recorded in my most recent logs, as they cannot be adequately explained with _objective language_.

Blues has started refusing to participate in the tests. The reason, he says, is because he is confused regarding their purpose, and because he dislikes cameras.

This is one of many examples of Blues`s recent displays of oppositional behavior. I am certain the root cause of this behavior is stress.

He is becoming increasingly despondent about the restrictions placed on his freedom. He keeps asking me to take him out of the house, into the world, so he can visit some of the places he`s seen on netscreen. His questions are relentless, especially those beginning with "why."

Mr. Takayama, I am urging you to let me bring the period of testing and documentation to an end. I`m getting worried about Blues`s emotional state, and the extent to which it will decline if he is forced to continue much longer.

I have sent all but one of Blues`s sketchbooks, and physical copies of all the video files Dr. Wily and myself have compiled since January. I believe you will agree that this, combined with the other evidence I have sent you so far, is more than enough to declare the project a success and release Blues from his obligations.

I would like an affirmative answer soon.

Tom

* * *

><p>From: Tadashi Takayama<p>

To: Thomas X. Light

Date: 11/25/61

Subject: Re: urgent

Dr. Light,

I understand your request, and I`d like to move this along as much as you would, but these things run on a schedule. Please do your best to endure a little while longer as per our original agreement. If oppositional behavior becomes a problem, let me know and I will send someone to assist you and Dr. Wily. It would be useful to learn how DRN-000 responds to continued stress.

Takayama

* * *

><p>From: Thomas X. Light<p>

To: Tadashi Takayama

Date: 11/25/61

Subject: Re: Re: urgent

In that case, I must invoke the terms of our contract which give us, Blues`s creators, of course including myself, the authority to set the conditions of his care.

To ask us to continue the testing is a violation of that term, as it is not our wish to intentionally put Blues under stress.

In other words, that`s a "no."

* * *

><p>From: Tadashi Takayama<p>

To: Thomas X. Light

Date: 11/26/61

Subject: Re: Re: Re: urgent

I will call you later today. It would be better for us to discuss this matter over the phone. Prepare yourself, since you won`t like what you`re going to hear.

Takayama

* * *

><p>This was the extent of what Blues was able to read before he set his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. <em>I`m so tired<em>, he thought. _I`ll just rest here a little while_.

The metallic humming of the fluorescent lights lulled him. The gnawing pain in his abdomen faded and disappeared, replaced by warm numbness. Dr. Light`s email log was still open on the netscreen, but Blues was past caring. His hands slid out of his lap and dangled at his sides.

That was exactly how Dr. Light found him the next morning.


	5. Bad News, Good News, More Bad News

Blues awoke staring up into the faces of Tom and Albert. The work lamp, which had been turned off, was hanging above him. He realized he was in the lab, lying on the stainless steel table, but a few adjustments had been made with his comfort in mind: his futon and the electric blanket had been placed under him, and a pillow was wedged beneath his head. The generator, which he guessed had been plugged into his navel, but was now disconnected, was at his side.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," said Dr. Wily with a smile. "It`s nice to see you functional again. It was getting awfully quiet around here without your music—not to mention all your pissing and moaning." He winked. "Too quiet."

Blues glanced at one face, then another, and blinked, feeling dazed. He recalled the fight he`d witnessed between Albert and Tom, but it seemed they had already reconciled.

"What happened?" he said.

"Tom found you unconscious, in a rather undignified position," said Albert, with a lopsided smirk. "If you ever had any doubts regarding your nationality, by the way, you can put them to rest now. Apparently you have a knack for falling asleep anywhere, so you must be Japanese. Congratulations—or, perhaps I should say `my condolences.`"

"You`ve been out for a week," said Dr. Light. Unlike Albert, he wasn`t smiling. His nose was red, and his eyes were glassy. "You gave me quite a scare when I couldn`t wake you up. That`s when I did a diagnostic check and discovered your energy level was at zero."

It all came back to him: the search for his missing sketchbooks, his descent into the lab, the password he had used to access the netscreen, the odd pain and the sudden fatigue, Dr. Light`s logs, and the correspondence with the man named Takayama. Blues must have looked frightened at the recollection, because just then Dr. Light put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"You remember what you were doing right before you shut down, don`t you, Blues?" he said.

Blues nodded with trepidation.

"Clever boy," Albert said with a fond smile. "How did you figure out it was Catherine`s birthday?"

Blues looked at Albert`s face, then at Tom`s, surprised not to see the reactions he was expecting. "Aren`t you angry?" he said.

"At you? Of course not," Dr. Light said. "Why would we be angry?"

"We knew, sooner or later, you`d try sticking your nose into some place it doesn`t belong," said Albert. "But if anyone`s to blame, it`s Tom for being so damned transparent." He crossed his arms, and gave Dr. Light an admonishing look. "The man`s supposedly a genius, but he`s too sentimental, or too lazy, to secure his own netscreen with a decent password. You`d better hope he made _you_ a bit more difficult to hack."

"Anyway, what`s done is done," said Tom, with a sigh. "We can`t exactly ask you to forget what you saw."

"In case you were wondering, the security system code has been changed," Albert said, and gave Blues another wink. "So don`t get any big ideas."

"Who`s Takayama?" Blues said.

Tom and Albert looked at each other.

"Before we tell you that," said Dr. Wily, "you`d better tell us what _you_ know first. How much did you learn, anyway?"

Blues shut his eyes. He saw, with perfect clarity, the content of the logs documenting his development—nothing of which had taught him anything new, except that he was referred to as "the subject" or "DRN-000." Even the email conversation between Tom and Takayama hadn`t yielded much. He`d skipped ahead in several places, and there was a lot he had missed. He had the impression that the two didn`t get along, yet they, and he, were all bound together by a contract that had to be fulfilled. He also knew now that Dr. Light had tried to defend Blues from the procurement of more "evidence," but that, apparently, he had failed.

He looked up at Dr. Light with a feeling of gratitude, although he didn`t fully comprehend it. With his defenses lowered, his found himself telling his creators everything he knew.

"So, you understand that the tests will have to continue, for now," said Tom.

"Perhaps it`s better that you snooped, after all," said Albert. "Now you know we`re on your side. There`s an... agreement, you see, between Takayama and us. We`ll give him what he wants, and he`ll give us what we want."

Blues blinked. He felt lost again. Albert`s words seemed to contradict what he had said just before his fight with Tom. "Wait a minute," he said. "What do we want?"

Dr. Wily leaned in closer and raised his eyebrows. "Your _freedom_," he said. "Of course, Tom gets something else out of the deal too, and the two of us have had our disagreements about that... but that`s all water under the bridge now." As he spoke, Tom gave him a penetrating look, which Albert answered with a sheepish smile. "Anyway, that`s not important. What`s important is _you_. How are you feeling?"

"All right, I guess," Blues said, and closed his hand around the sleeve of his oversized bathrobe. He realized he`d been put into it while he was unconscious. He glanced down. It was parted from the waist up, and his chest cavity was open. He saw bundles of thousands of colored wires, and a few inputs into which three white cords, leading off to the left, had been inserted.

He stared downward, regarding the vision with an air of unreality.

"Oh, right, that`s what your insides look like," said Albert. "You`ve never seen it before, have you?"

Blues shook his head.

"We were... doing some work on you while you were out," said Tom, whose voice had suddenly seemed to become dry. "Mostly, we were investigating something."

"Sorry about making you wear this again," said Albert, and tugged at the sleeve of the bathrobe. "We know it`s not your style, but it makes our job easier, and meanwhile it lets you keep some measure of dignity—though, of course, it`s not like we haven`t seen it all already." He gave Blues a kidding nudge on the elbow. "Anyway, I won`t bore you with the technical details, but the gist of it is that we had to take a lot of stuff out of you and put it back in, in order to find the source of the problem."

"Problem?" Just as Blues said the word, the biting pain in his midsection returned. He clenched his hands at his sides, a gesture his creators observed with worried looks.

"Are you in pain, Blues?" Dr. Light said.

"Yes."

"I was afraid so."

Blues turned to the left, and his eyes followed the white cords to their source: the portable netscreen, behind Dr. Light, on a second table. He saw the words _Diagnostic Findings_ at the top of the screen in white, and underneath, flashing red, the words _Anomaly Detected_.

He tried to push himself upright, but Tom and Albert grasped him by the arms and pressed him gently back onto the table. "Easy, there," said Dr. Light. "We`re not quite finished. It`ll be just a few more minutes."

"What`s wrong with me?"

Dr. Wily cleared his throat, and cast a weary glance at his companion. "Tom, I think you`d better be the one to explain it," he said.

Blues looked up at Dr. Light, who seemed reluctant to return his gaze. Tom took a deep breath. "Well, you see, Blues..." he said, rubbed at his beard, and closed his eyes. "When we created you, it was the first time any programmer had attempted something so... ambitious. We knew you`d require a lot of processing power, but we underestimated just how much..." When Tom opened his eyes again, they were full of fear. "It seems your consciousness has now developed to a point where—we didn`t forsee this—your power core just can`t keep up, and it`s become unstable. You can`t hold a charge as long as you used to, which is why you shut down only three days since your last one, instead of being able to last the usual five or six. In addition, there are some signals getting crossed: that`s where your pain is coming from. And we have a hypothesis... which we hope is wrong..."

Tom glanced at Albert, and Albert, with a wave of his hand, looked away. "We think... well, you`re not done developing yet," Tom continued, and took in a sharp intake of air. "You`re going to keep making new memories, learning, and forming connections—and we think that, the more you do, the more unstable your core will become... until a time when, if nothing is done to fix the problem, there will be a... a.."

"A total system failure." Albert turned back toward Blues, and flashed a bittersweet smile. "In other words, kid," he said, in a watery voice, "you`re too damn smart for your own good. But you already knew that, didn`t you?"

Blues listened with open ears, and began to feel as though he was sinking further downward into the table. It made sense to him, now, why they hadn`t been angry that he`d "stuck his nose" into something forbidden: the reason was that they felt sorry for him. He closed his eyes. His mind was awash with questions, all of them vying with one another for importance. He stammered, but the words he wanted to say didn`t come out.

"Sorry, again," said Dr. Wily. "It`s just `sorry, sorry` all the time from us, isn`t it? I bet you`re thinking it would be nice to hear a `you`re welcome` for once."

"How long will it be?" said Blues. "I mean, until the `total system failure`?"

Dr. Light sighed and shook his head. "We don`t know," he said. "We`d like your help to figure that out. We`re going to start documenting the dates and times when you recharge, as well as your pain levels. Based on that, I think a pattern will emerge, which we can use to calculate the rate of decline. Right now, I can`t give you a definite answer. It could be months, or years. Hopefully, even decades..."

"For God`s sake, man," said Albert. "Aren`t you going to give him the good news too?"

Dr. Light managed a weak smile. "The good news is, we think we can fix the problem in time. Actually, we`re certain we can."

"We created you, after all, and that was no small feat," Dr. Wily said. "Don`t you worry. We`re going to pull out all the stops. Your mom`s even coming, all the way from the other side of the world, to help. You`re going to meet Yuichi, too: a good kid—you`ll like him."

Just then, Dr. Light`s netphone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, and Albert leaned forward to catch a glance at the screen. "Speak of the Devil," he said. "It`s her."

Tom answered, greeted Judith, and after half a minute of pleasantries, the phone was held up to Blues`s ear.

"Blues, is that you?" said Judith`s voice. It sounded to Blues like she was shouting to him from the other side of a tunnel. "Have they explained it all to you yet?"

"Um... yes," he answered, in a voice he himself could barely hear. At the moment, he didn`t feel like talking.

"Hello? Blues, are you okay?"

"I... I think so."

"Don`t be frightened. I helped Tom to design your power core, and we`ve already got an idea or two regarding how to patch it up. In the meantime, if the discomfort gets to be too much, you can ask Tom to turn your pain receptors off. I only recommend it as a temporary measure, though—in excess, it can cause a host of other issues.

"It`ll be a few weeks before I can get to you, but I`ll certainly make it there in time for your birthday. Until then, Tom`s going to do a little more investigating, and draw up a couple of plans for us to try. So just hang in there, all right?"

"All right," said Blues, and had almost placed the netphone back into Tom`s hand, when he suddenly yanked it back against his ear. "Dr. Sorensen?" he said, in a voice that was louder and more urgent.

"Yes, Blues?"

"Why am I here?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Blues saw Tom and Albert staring down at him with pitiful looks.

He listened to the sound of Judith`s slow breathing for a few moments before, at last, she answered. "We`re going to talk about that when I come to see you. You only have a while longer to wait, so for now, try to put the question out of your mind, relax, and do the things that make you happy." There was an awkward pause during which Judith cleared her throat. "Could you give the phone back to Tom now, dear?"

Instead of doing what she asked, he decided to press harder. "Wait," he said. "This conversation we`re having... are you recording it?"

"I..." Judith let out a small gasp. "No, of course not, Blues," she said.

He glanced around the room, seaching for any sign of a blinking red light. Tom and Albert followed his eyes, and their faces darkened as they realized what he was looking for.

"Blues," said Dr. Light, and took a step closer. "There aren`t any cameras here. It`s just you and us."

"It`s true that you`re an... experiment, of sorts," said the voice of Judith through the netphone, "but you`re more to us than that. Our relationship with you—it isn`t just about gathering `evidence.`"

Reluctantly, Blues held out the phone. Dr. Light took it and cupped his hand over the receiver. "I`ll be right back," he said. "Albert, keep an eye on his energy level while I`m gone." Then he turned and ascended the stairs. Blues and Albert watched him go, and seconds later the two of them heard the sound of the basement door shutting behind him.

Heaving a sigh, Dr. Wily glanced at the netscreen on the opposing table, then down at Blues. "Now, the question you ought to be asking yourself is, `if they`re so sure they can fix me, why do they seem scared out of their wits?`" he said in a lowered voice, and leaned in closer. "You see, Tom and Judith are just like those Showa-era doctors who used to lie about the prognosis to keep their terminal patients in good spirits. They thought it was a mercy, but we in the modern age know that knowledge is power.

"The truth is that we`re not really sure your power core can be fixed—well, not in a manner we`d all be happy with, anyway. The most likely scenario for you is a rapid decline, followed by that `total system failure` we told you about."

Blues stared up at Dr. Wily in silence. He didn`t know how to answer.

"It`s a lot to take in, I know." Albert clasped Blues`s hand in his own, and squeezed. "If you`re as much like us as we think you are, you`ll probably be wondering `why me?` But this suffering you`re soon going to be acquainted with—as you would have learned eventually, one way or another—in this world, well, it`s just the ordinary state of affairs."

An image came to Blues`s mind of the dead crow he`d seen in the forest last spring, crawling with ants. The memory faded, and was replaced with the picture of Catherine next to the green urn in the butsudan, accompanied by the sound of Dr. Light`s feet shuffling against the living room floor.

"Listen," Dr. Wily continued, "and don`t you dare repeat this to Tom: when there`s no other way out, there are humans, sometimes, who take matters into their own hands. Carbon monoxide, sleeping pills, and hanging are tried and true methods, but none of them are going to work for you. If you want to escape, you`re going to have to be a bit more... inventive.

"See those red plastic jugs by the stairs? Do you know what`s in them?"

Blues turned his head to look, but he already knew the answer. "Kerosene," he said, and was surprised by the sound of his own voice. It seemed to come from far away.

"That`s right," Albert said. "If there`s one thing your system can`t endure, it`s extreme heat. Pour some of that on yourself, and light one of the matches in Tom`s desk drawer over there. It will be quick, much quicker even than for a human. For God`s sake, just remember to take your pain receptors offline first. I`ll show you how. It`s a bit tricky at first, but once you get the hang of it..."

It wasn`t until then that Blues realized Dr. Wily was teaching him how to destroy himself.

"Of course, I`m not saying you should actually do it," said Albert, with an emphatic shake of his head. "It`s information, nothing more. Just file this little piece of data away in your memory bank. Whether you use it, or not, is up to you.

"Why am I telling you all this? Because I believe you deserve some measure of control over your own life—and how it`s going to end. Up until now, you`ve had precious little of that.

"There`s something you should know about how your mind works. It was constructed much like a house of cards: remove one component, and the whole thing comes crashing down. Tom insisted on doing it that way, he said, so that you could have faith in your own `psychological integrity,` as he calls it. It was meant to protect you, but in the case of your `anomaly,` it`s going to pose quite an obstacle for us.

"We`re going to do what we can to save you, but I can`t make any promises. If we mess it up, you could be in pretty bad shape before this is all over. I know the others are going to hold out hope to the very end, regardless of what _you_ may want—and they might even decide to do something, as a last resort, that you probably wouldn`t consent to...

"Look at me." Albert`s pale blue eyes were wide. He drew in even closer—so close that Blues had to fight the urge to turn away—and lowered his voice to a whisper. "This is important. We`re getting to the crux of the matter now. Tom and Judith aren`t going to tell you this, but there are two methods we could use to repair your core: an easy one and a hard one. The hard one, the one we`re going to try first, is almost guaranteed to fail. The easy one is sure to work—but, as I think you`d agree, it has its... disadvantages..."

Just then, the basement door opened, and Blues heard the sound of Dr. Light`s footsteps descending the stairs. Dr. Wily straightened himself, cleared his throat, and glanced at the netscreen. Just before Tom`s feet came into view, Albert locked eyes with Blues and put his finger up to his lips. Frightened, Blues nodded in understanding.

Dr. Light appeared at the bottom of the steps with the phone in his hand. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "Albert, where are we at now?"

With another hard glance at the netscreen, Albert pressed his lips together. "Ninety nine point forty five percent," he said. He looked down at his watch. "It`s been almost exactly thirty minutes now since we brought him online, so that means he`s draining at a rate of about one point one percent an hour. That puts us at about three days, seventeen and a half hours until he reaches zero again—but of course, he`s going to start feeling it long before that."

"All right," said Tom, and joined Albert at Blues`s side. "Now we`ve got some idea of what we`re working with." He looked down at Blues, and put on a brave smile. "Have courage. We`re going to fix this," he said. "You`ll be good as new in no time. But for now, you have things to do, so let`s get you off this table."

Blues watched with a feeling of weary dissociation as they removed the cables from his chest one by one, then as Dr. Light traced his fingers around the cavity, causing it to close up and conceal itself under a panel of synthetic skin. Within a few seconds, the outline of the panel faded and disappeared, leaving no visible trace it was ever there.

"Pretty neat, isn`t it?" said Tom. He seemed to be in somewhat better spirits. There was no way he could have known how bewildered, and terrified, Blues was.

"Yeah," Blues said, still feeling as though his voice was coming from somewhere outside of himself. The two men pulled him up by the arms, and he wrapped himself more tightly in his bathrobe. As he sat upright, by chance his eyes settled on the red jugs of kerosene by the stairs. He looked from one scientist`s face to the other and knew that one of them—Tom or Albert—had to be lying about his fate. He could never have guessed then that it was both—each for very different reasons.

As the two men helped him to get up, fluttering and disoriented, from the table, his pain returned—and he realized a new phase of his life was beginning, and that it was going to be lonelier, and more confused, than the first. He got to his feet, and they followed him up the stairs and through the basement door. He took out his coat from the closet in the living room, put it over his shoulders, and went out into the garden.

He squinted up at the sun. It was a bright and cloudless December afternoon. The maple tree, which only a week ago had been covered in blindingly red foliage, was now completely bare. He heard crows cawing in the distance, and smelled woodsmoke which must have blown in from a farm kilometers away: a place he`d never seen, and had no hope of seeing anytime soon. He looked behind him, and saw the shadows of Dr. Light and Dr. Wily peering out at him from behind the sliding glass door.

It would have given him some comfort then to know that the person in whom he`d one day find relief was alive, gazing up at the same sun as him—but she was still a world away, and too early in her own development even to know that she too was mortal. Into those memories, like this one, that were too painful for him to relive just as they happened, he liked to insert the sound of her cool voice calling out to him from the future, echoing Judith`s words: "hang in there."

He made his way toward the camellia, which now, for the first time since the previous winter, was covered in flowers, but a flare of pain stopped him in his tracks before he could reach it. "Hang in there, Blues," said the voice, as he clutched at his stomach. "Just hang in there."

So that`s what he did.

* * *

><p><em>Greetings. Kaguya here. Just wanted to let you know about a small but important change I`ve made in chapter 1. When Blues first looks around the lab, he sees "a large room with a grey floor and no windows." But when Blues goes down into the lab in chapter 3 to look for his sketchbooks, he sees a window. I`ve changed the sentence in chapter 1 to "a large room with a grey floor and white walls." Yes, there is a window, and it`s going to be very important.<em>

_That`s all for now. Thanks for reading._


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